Two days ago we went to a classical music event, and I went, thinking I should leave campus for a while. I went out and I realized that I had made one of the best decisions in my life for going. I was left perplexed; dazzled by the beauty and splendor of the music that was playing before me. I wanted to throw my self between the notes, between the silences, and read them into me, thinking I had finally found the lost music in my dreams. But I ended trembling, with an overload of joy to my soul. Then, suddenly in a moment I had an epiphany, I became aware of the similarity of life and a symphony. A similarity that is slightly mystical to be true, as if someone or something had wanted to subtly leave us this message that, after all, we live in a symphony of life, that finishes at different times –sometimes too soon-when others barely hear it.
Perhaps a symphony is nothing more than the mirror of life that reflects itself between the sound waves. Waves that vibrate and resonate even in the depths of the being listening to them: both with melancholic, happy, slow or solemn sounds and moments.
And sometimes, the symphony is the same as life, seeming static; motionless. When suddenly, a new beat starts, changing everything, changing our heart rate and altering our breathing. Allowing the viewer -of life or symphony- to be born and reborn in each beat. But this viewer of the symphony, like the viewer of the universe, is only on temporary call. A call that ends soon, in the least expected time.
I noticed that in both you live more intensely when eyes are closed, because only then you start to feel around solely, leaving aside the lies that sometimes eyes bring, leaving the heart alone at liberty to listen.
Separate lives that go through the streets of life are also symphonies, but with a different rhythm, pitch or tone. Some of these lives meet at one point separating themselves ever after; others touched and retouched; others become one with time; and even many others end early. That’s why we realize a soul mate in front of us, because the symphony of these two hearts unite, dance under the same beat, meeting again and again, everything during a finite time seemingly eternal, happening within an indefinite space-time that only exists for those who contemplate from inside.
It is in a symphony when a language of madness is screamed, one that the sane do not fully understand, and that only for two equally crazy people the screams become clear and meaningful.
Honestly, now I began to envy those who have ventured into the world of music. These people have decoded the secret language of the universe, that consists of wordless poetry and that makes the soul of who is near shiver. I am a bit jealous of those people that, when playing, are possessed by a spirit whose origin or home is unknown, but makes flow through the fingers of that person a hidden energy whose sole purpose is the mystical creation of these sounds having the ink of life inscribed in them.
A symphony also has a soul. But when it finishes, it is dispersed in the hope of being afterwards at least in pieces, perhaps in another place or time, only in order to give life to those who listen again, whoever is in call.
What is life but a symphony of seconds that intertwine and punctuate each other? Sometimes apparently without much sense, with a lot of pain perhaps, but always at the end – to those whose call is ending- we end up discovering how beautiful it truly was. We end up discovering that there is no way back, no replay.
It was at the end when I was leaving the event that I realized I had lost a small part of my being at the ending of the symphony. It was then when I began to realize that the lines delineating my concepts of life and symphony merged into one. That’s when I realized that life, like a symphony, is too perfect to be produced by luck. And I knew that it is in both where we have to live in the moment, because we truly do not know what will happen in the next line of the pentagram; we don’t know when our call will end.
Written by José Morales
Edited by Hannah Cook